


Desperate

by TheTruthBetweenRPF (TheTruthBetween)



Category: Desperate Housewives RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-02
Updated: 2012-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-04 16:58:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTruthBetween/pseuds/TheTruthBetweenRPF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You hate that word, desperate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desperate

You hate that word, desperate.

For the last three years, everything in your life has been a shade of desperation. When you got engaged, it was “desperate no more,” as if you had been desperate in the first place. When you never made it to the altar, it was “desperate again,” as if you weren’t the one who called it off.

You can’t help but admit, however, that you are desperate. Every day you turn more and more into her, Bree Van De Kamp, that perfect caricature of reality that you play. You and her with your secrets and wine.

The wine is bad for you; it causes the headaches. But it feels so good going down, and it helps you forget that you’re desperate. Your doctor is concerned – you’ve never gone through your prescription this quickly. He wants to run tests – a CT scan, blood work – but you already know the reason. You want to tell him, but doctor-patient confidentiality isn’t confidential enough. You’re turning into Bree more and more.

With all the knowledge and training you have, you know that you’re on a path of self-destruction. For some reason you don’t care.

Maybe it’s the same reason you hate the word desperate. Maybe it’s the reason that word applies to you.

You see her on the set and start to think of the next glass of wine. Fridays are hell, because Fridays are the days you film the scenes with her. But Saturday follows Friday, and you don’t work on Saturday, so you open a new bottle of wine, and after a glass and a half, you pop an Imitrex, and then, maybe, you can forget your desperation.

Because you really hate that word.


End file.
